


movement

by Huff_Puff



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Self-Esteem Issues, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-09-29 00:09:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20434787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huff_Puff/pseuds/Huff_Puff
Summary: Timothy Drake is in a not-so good place. The events of the last few years are finally catching up to him; dead parents, dead friends, lost Bruce, no Robin. Everyone thought he was losing his mind. He think's he was fine.With the return of Superboy, Kid Flash, and Batman, Tim thought things would go back to the way they always were; except he isn't Robin anymore, and his parents are still dead, and nothing makes sense the way it used to. Attempting to find his place in the family isn't working, and the Wayne tacked onto his last name feels like more and more of a burden each day.Tim thinks maybe he's losing his mind. Everyone thinks he's fine.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is my first DC fic. This chapter is pretty short as I'm just getting a feel for things, but I will routinely be updating it, extending and expanding on it until I'm happy with it's final story! I hope you enjoy!
> 
> This isn't a song fic, but it will incorporate music into it quite often!   
The one mentioned in this chapter (in case you couldn't tell!) is the Summertime Sadness remix by Lana Del Rey and Cedric Gervais.

The hot strobe lights in the nightclub make sweat bead up at the juncture of his shirt collar and throat. He hates it here; there are too many people, smelling like cheap cologne and even cheaper alcohol. Tim doesn’t know why Bruce didn’t pick Dick for this mission, or even Jason. Either one of them would have eased more into the club scene than he could. He feels awfully out of place here; like eyes are watching his back, every move, reminding him he doesn’t  _ belong _ here.

It’s a feeling he should be more used to by now.

Tim is sitting across from the dance floor in an empty booth. In the one to his left a couple is furiously trying to take one another’s tops off. He picked the vantage spot because it sits slightly higher than the dance floor, but he’s yet to see his target; a drug dealer peddling joker venom-laced acid tabs with lethal consequences. Three college students at Gotham U have died this past week alone, each found with a grin stretched wide across their faces. 

The song slows as it comes to an end and - there, in the corner of his eye: his perp making his way through the crowd of writhing bodies, swaying through the throngs of clubbers like he's parting the Red Sea.

Just as Tim is about to lose him in the bodies, he makes his move.

Darting between the crowd is harder than his target makes it look. Tim gets jostled from side to side, yanked through the crowd by misplaced elbows and stumbling bodies, and by the time he catches his footing again he’s somehow in the middle of the dance floor, his perp is nowhere in sight, and his face and shirt feel sticky with booze. Frustration pits low in his gut. If he was wearing Red Robin this might have been easier, but a recon mission wasn't a recon mission if he stood out like a sore thumb. Once again, he wonders aggressively why Dick wasn’t in this position.

The song faded into another, the full vocals of a woman floating from the speakers. The song began slower: the crowd's movements winding down to match.

Good. That makes it easier to slip through. 

It's slow progress getting through the crowd and twice he gets turned around by all the bodies that tower over him, but eventually, he spots the safety of the booth seating.

Tim makes his way closer.

_ Oh my God, I feel it in the air... _

Something in the song changes and Tim feels a subconscious sensation fill the writhing bodies around him. It’s anticipation. He can tell by the way they bounce higher off the neon-lit floor at their feet, jostling into one another, small groups of friends converging to dance with strangers. It's infectious, and his feet stop at the edge of the crowd.

_ Telephone wires above are sizzlin’ like a snare… _

He turns to face into the crowd again and he spots him again, his target. He’s palming something off onto another man and taking his money, looking for all the world like he doesn’t know a thing about it. Tim moves closer to his perp, his hips swaying through the crowd to the beat of the music. It helps him slip his way through the crowd, and he can’t say that the bumps of friction against his sides and his hips aren’t welcome. Not when that same  _ anticipation _ is electrifying his heartbeat. 

He’s distracted. If he doesn’t do this now he’s going to be stuck doing recon for who knows how long - his perp isn’t particularly active, once a week on Saturdays, and he doesn’t always hit the same club. 

Tim tenses his shoulders, gearing himself to finally make a move when a dancing girl collapses backward into him as he starts to make his way behind. It’s particularly spectacular; her heel snaps and breaks off and her drink flies out of her hand. He catches her with one arm before she can get herself trampled amongst the drunk partiers, nearly wrenching his arm out of his socket to catch her flying drink as it zooms towards the floor. Alcohol sloshes across his wrist as he catches it before it can hit the ground. The sharp aroma cuts through his sense of smell.

_ Honey I'm on fire, I feel it everywhere… _

He can barely hear the words she’s saying as he helps her to stand, keeping his arm around her as she teeters unsteadily on her broken heel. When she has her balance he lets go, taking in the frantic flapping of her hands and stricken expression on her face to gather what she’s trying to get across.

“IT’S OKAY!” He yells above the music.”NO HARM DONE!” Her face shows confusion, so he waves his hand in a ‘no big deal’ kind of gesture and gives her a thumbs up instead. 

_ Nothing scares me anymore... _

The lights change, pulsing a silvery-white light across the dance floor in time with the clap-beat beneath the music. The beat slowly picks up, and this time Tim can really feel it, feel it in himself, in the anxious flexing of his toes in his shoes. The anticipation prickling at his skin, lining it with goosebumps. His cheeks feel flushed, and his hair sticks to his face like a whirlwind just blew through. 

_ Kiss me hard before you go _

“HEY!” The girl says. Tim jerks his head back from the lights to look at her. 

_   
_ _ Summertime Sadness _

She jerks her thumb at her friends. “WANNA DANCE?”

_ I just wanted you to know _

Tim’s eyes follow it to the small group, swaying to the beat. One of them has a half-finished drink in his hand and despite the unsteadiness of his dance moves he has yet to slosh a drop yet. It’s rather impressive. Two of heel-girl’s friend’s beckon them in with great big gestures, tired but bright grins on their faces as they throw themselves into the beat. Were all drunk girls this friendly?

_ That baby you’re the best _

Tim should say no. He really should but…

His perp has disappeared while Tim’s been distracted. He curses inwardly - Bruce wasn’t going to be happy. The thought coils up hideously in his gut. When was the last time Bruce was ever  _ happy _ about something he did? Hell, when was the last time Bruce contacted him about anything other than Wayne Enterprises or a case?

_ I got that summertime, summertime sadness _

_ S-S-Summertime, summertime sadness _

Instead of rejecting their invitation he musters a smile and nods, making his way with her to the unfamiliar strangers as the beat speeds up faster. They don’t even question his presence - instead, they cheer upon his arrival, and then he has a drink in his hand that he doesn’t want, but this feeling is infectious. It’s infectious, and he feels good, better than he has in a long,  _ long _ time, and maybe that’s why he throws his head back and downs the last of the drink in one go. Maybe it’s been roofied, or maybe he’s just taken a horse tranqs worth of ecstasy and his night is about to get even crazier. He can’t hear the nagging Bruce-voice in his head, nor his growling Batman one. He can’t hear Steph’s insistent apology voicemails or Dick’s chipper invites for dinner that leave his lunch in his trash can. It’s good. It’s nice. 

His heels bounce off the ground, anticipating the beat drop. The music is suffocatingly loud and yet he wants  _ more,  _ wants it to blast his eardrums apart until the ringing is so intense he can’t think at all anymore. He raises his arms above his head, glass still in hand as he throws his head back, a smile fighting its way across his lips.

_ Got that summertime, summertime sadness _

Tim’s eyes flutter shut and he lets his control slip away like the vestiges of a bad dream.

_ Oh...O-oh….. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim deals with the aftermath.

He gets home at five thirty in the morning. _He_ has a board meeting at Wayne Enterprises at eight. His muscles scream at him with each movement, and his mind feels like it's been filled with a bucket of slugs. For once, it's the kind of feeling he doesn't mind. 

It takes him an extra fifteen minutes longer than normal to disable and then reset the security system to his apartment. He has four feet swimming in front of his eyes and they're all tripping over one another. The feeling isn't unlike the pull of Ivy pheremone before it drags it's victim under, an inviting blanket draped across his shoulders that warms his body and tints the world in shades of heat.

Once he's in, he stumbles his way through making a huge steaming cup of coffee. If he wants to get to work in time, he's going to have to leave in a couple of hours anyway. Sleep is out of the question, but if he's lucky, he might be able to snatch a couple of power naps in his office.

Tim drops his head onto the countertop, heaving a sigh as his eyes fall shut. He's going to have to reorganize his meetings to the end of the day so he has time to sober up.

While the coffee prepares, he gets a bottle of water from the refrigerator and chugs the entire thing down. It feels good right until the soreness in his muscles catches up with him. He groans, clenching his hand around the lip of the countertop and leans backwards, hearing the muscles in his shoulders pop, followed by a clicking in his back. It's only a small relief, but it's enough for his motivation to kick in. 

A shower is in order. He'd never live it down if he showed up at the office covered in sweat and someone else's body glitter, which he only notices when a few gold flakes shake from his hair onto the counter.

Draining the dregs of his cup, he stands and makes his way to his bathroom, stripping out of his clothes and tossing them into the corner by the toilet. They stink of alcohol. The sour-sweet smell makes his nose crinkle as he turns the spray of water on and steps in.

The relief that the warm water pelts into his skin pulls a gentle sigh from his lips. He tips his head back, eyes closing.

_He's dizzy, not with the nausea of Crane's fear toxin or any of Ivy's tricks. Instead, his whole body is filled with bubbles that tickle his throat and pop, releasing soft puffs of air out his nose. _

_He's _laughing_. _

_He's surrounded by unfamiliar people in a club, underage, drunk, target long gone, and he's _laughing_. _

_He feels good. Better than he has since...since years. _

_There are bodies all around him, and normally that would send red alarms blaring in his brain, but instead he let's himself enjoy the touch of skin on skin, of the heat that penetrates beneath his bones. _

_Somehow he finds himself dancing with some young college students after losing his previous group in wake of a hurried toilet trip, spinning a spunky blonde that reminds him of Steph and- _

_And...and...? And what? _

_Steph and he aren't dating anymore, have barely said a word to each other since she came back. And this girl isn't her, but this girl [is] having a good time with him, and so he shoves it all down, swallows around the lump in his throat even though it hurts all the way. _

_She's having a good time. He's having a good time, and the music drowns out the rest._

Tim's eyes fall open and he turns off the shower, stepping out and wrapping a fluffy towel around his waist. He bends his head, rubs his face and tries to clear his brain. It had been a one time thing, and it would be no use dwelling on it.

Tim dresses in his bedroom in a pair of slacks, a dress suit, and one of his suit jackets. He forgoes the tie today since he's having enough trouble swallowing as it is, and hopes that no one will call his attire sloppy. Really, he might punch someone today if they aren't careful, and coming to blows would only bring the rest of his family down on his head. But maybe that's the third glass of bourbon saying that. 

He makes his way back to his coffee machine and fills a travel mug with it. His briefcase is by the sofa where he left it last night after finishing work. He picks it up and tosses it over his shoulders as he makes his way out of the apartment, pausing only to walk back inside and grab his headphones. He tucks them over his ears, connects the bluetooth up to his phone, and selects a song on spotify as he sets out the door for his car.

_I got my red dress on tonight _

_Dancin' in the dark in the pale moonlight _

_Do my hair up real big, beauty queen style _

_High heels off _

_I'm feeling alive_

* * *

The meeting is terribly droll. One of the suits is reporting back on the prospective plans for a second Wayne Enterpises branch in Silicoln Valley. The program proposed would be a new R & D department, focused on partnering with possible shareholder opportunities. Tech was only getting more and more impressive, and it was in Wayne Enterprises best interest to stay on top of the game.

Of course, the location would also act as an outpost for future Bat-operations. But the board didn't need to know that.

Usually this type of venture was right up his alley. When he wasn't holed up in his office or at board meetings he was in the R & D department, quietly tinkering away or in mid-discussion with a technician about schematics for upcoming projects. Usually he would have been psyched to know that this meant Bruce had approved the grant he'd proposed to expand the department.

Today, his mind is elsewhere. His fingers tap a gentle one-two-one rhythm on the table. He can hear the thump of bass in the back of his head beating in time with the flex of his jaw.

Only upon getting into his car and started it had he stopped to think about the alcohol still wavering his vision. His hands had clenched knuckle-white on the wheel. He'd gotten out of his car and promptly called for a ride.

The time over had given him time to reflect; what had he been thinking, getting in his car to drive? The lack of attention frightened him. He could have gotten himself _killed_.

The apathy that statement earned himself was unnerving, and ultimately worse.

His eyes slip shut of their own accord. He reaches his hands up, elbows on the table, and rakes his fingers through his hair, trying to demand focus. Visions of twisting bodies, the smell of sweat and adrenaline fills his core. Music swells in his head, building and building and building, and Tim feels excitement working into his gut. His toes curl in his shoes as he waits, waits for the beat to drop so he can release the tension in his shoulders. So he can [relax]-

"Mr. Wayne?"

Tim snaps his head up, blinking uncomprehendingly at him. "Wha-?"

"...."

"Oh," says Tim airily. "No, no that sounds fine." Even though he really has no idea what was said. "Put the report on my desk. I'll comb through it and check out all the small details. It'll be back on your desk first thing tomorrow."

"Yes, Mr. Wayne." The gentlemen beside him launches into a discussion on building finances. He can feel eyes shoot condescension over him. They need no words for him to read how unsavory they find him. 

It doesn't take very long for Tim to drift off again. He blames the lack of sleep for his disquiet. Twice more he's prompted to contribute. The board members are starting to get outwardly annoyed by his lack of concentration, but he promises to read their full reports and have them all back tomorrow. Maybe he can palm them off on Tam, or one of the interns. Then again, probably not. Even Tam would struggle to find any and all discrepancies in each report, and she certainly wouldn't appreciate the extra work.

He's distracted from his musings once more when he's prompted to finish up the meeting. His eyes fall to the notes on the table in front of him, but his eyes swim and he can't remember what he came here to talk about. He must be more tired than he first thought. 

"Okay, I think we'll just cap today's meeting here," he says. "We'll have another in a few days time so I can go over any changes or deviations. Thank you."

The dismissal is clear. The suits begin standing, gathering their items and talking quietly amongst themselves. He can tell that the conversation will switch to his incompetence behind closed doors. Tim squeezes his eyes shut, counts to ten, and opens them again.

The board room is empty, and the clock on the wall says he's been out for an hour.

Instead of listening to the anxious curl in his gut, he buries his face in his arms and drowns out everything else. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and feedback!


End file.
